


Cuts Like a Knife

by dragon_temeraire



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Emotionally Hurt Stiles Stilinski, Established Relationship, Everyone Is Alive, Future Fic, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-25 08:09:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7524976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragon_temeraire/pseuds/dragon_temeraire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The pack is hunting for a monster that manipulates emotion, and Stiles gets caught in the crossfire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cuts Like a Knife

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt on AO3, from Dove.

Stiles is on a trail through the preserve, looking for the wormwood Deaton asked for, when he hears the tell-tale whispering crackle of leaves behind him. He whirls around, already on the defensive, when he sees that it’s Lydia.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, relaxing his stance.

“I figured it out,” she says, walking up. “It’s a Drocnid.”

“A what?” Stiles says, because he knows a lot of monsters, but he’s not familiar with that one.

“It’s the creature that’s been spreading strife through Beacon Hills these last few weeks,” Lydia explains. “And I’m pretty sure I know where it’s hiding,” she says, heading down one of the paths.

Stiles hurries after her. “That’s great, but shouldn’t we call in the rest of the pack?”

“I already contacted them,” Lydia says, pushing her hair back over her shoulders. “But since they’re doing their little werewolf-only training session, it’s probably going to be a while.” 

Stiles laughs. “It’s not all werewolves. Allison’s there, too,” he says.

“Of course she is, it’s her house,” Lydia huffs. “We still should have been invited.”

“I think they’re afraid you’ll sit there, judging all their ridiculous acrobatics,” Stiles says, grinning.

“I suppose you’re right,” Lydia says, glancing his way, then back to the trail. “You know, I’m just going for recon, to find out if I’m right about where it’s hiding. You don’t have to come with me.”

“I’m not letting you go alone!” Stiles says immediately. “Where do you think it is?”

“Well, it likes to spread the seeds of discord, then absorb the energy from a distance,” Lydia says. “It’s mostly nocturnal, so it likes to hide in dark places during the daytime, particularly places where terrible things have happened.”

“So this is the perfect time to go looking,” Stiles says, because it’s a bright, sunny day. “It should be sleeping.”

“I’m not sure a creature like that actually sleeps,” Lydia says, lip curled in disgust. “But this is the safest time to find it. I know it’s not at the old Hale house, I already checked. So I’m betting it’s at the abandoned loggers’ cabin, past the stream. Over the course of six months, a woodsman tortured and killed twelve travelers there,” she says casually.

“Why do you know that?” Stiles asks, though he has no room to talk. He’s done research on far stranger things. 

Lydia just rolls her eyes. “Come on, here’s the bridge,” she says. “We’re almost there.”

Stiles isn’t too sure about Lydia’s definition of “almost,” because they walk another fifteen minutes on a winding, uphill path before they spot it. 

The cabin is a dilapidated heap of wood, thickly banked with leaves of the trees that surround it, their branches tangled densely overhead. It casts everything in deep shadow, turns the open, crooked doorway into a dark, yawning maw.

Looking at it, Stiles feels a shiver of trepidation. They’re out here, alone, in the middle of nowhere. He’s getting a bad feeling about this, and well. He’d promised Derek he wouldn’t rush headfirst into danger anymore. At least, not without him.

“Come on,” Lydia whispers. “Let’s get a little closer.” 

There’s a small, open swathe of ground leading to the door, and they tentatively creep along it, leaves crunching underfoot. 

Stiles is mimicking Lydia’s careful footsteps, and taking deep, slow breaths, when he catches movement out of the corner of his eye.

It’s the Drocnid.

He watches in horror as it emerges from the cabin. It looks like it’s made of a thousand shadows, twisting and writhing in constant motion, forming a massive creature that’s vaguely human-shaped. Its pitch black, wreathed in fine gray mist, and the sun’s rays don’t seem to touch it at all. 

It’s only discernable features are a dark, cavernous mouth, and sharp, shining ebony claws. It raises them high as it moves toward them, and lets loose a horrifying, inhuman roar.

“Looks like you were right,” Stiles says weakly, filled for a moment with complete and absolute fear. Then he’s suddenly hit by a wave of intense anger, and he staggers backward under the force of it. “Why the hell are we out here alone?” he yells at Lydia.

“You must have been feeling negative emotions,” Lydia hisses, turning to glare at him. “It’s the only reason it’d be drawn to us.”

Stiles is about to shout something back, but the Drocnid is suddenly looming behind Lydia, it’s arms spread wide. It takes a swing, knocking her across the head and sending her sprawling through the leaves. 

She doesn’t get up.

Stiles is boiling with rage now, senseless with it, and he runs at the creature, screaming. It swipes at him, those black claws going right through his side, and he collapses on the ground in agony. 

His anger is abruptly gone, replaced by a something worse. His hands close over his side, trying to ease the sharp, burning wounds the monster left. 

There’s nothing there.

No marks at all.

He can feel it, though. It makes his eyes squeeze shut, makes his legs twist in the leaves, as something dark spreads along the inside of his ribs, tightening around them and aching with cold fire.

When he manages to pry his eyes open, Lydia is still motionless on the ground next to him, and he can see the pack sprinting up the hill toward them.

For an instant they all look worried, even fearful.

It doesn’t last.

Allison crouches at Lydia’s still form, hurling insults at him. Scott stands next to her, his face livid. 

“How could you do this?” he screams at Stiles. “She got hurt, and it’s all your fault!” 

“You promised me,” Derek says, looking betrayed. “You promised you wouldn’t do this!”

Stiles manages to push himself partway off the ground, points into the woods. “It went that way,” he manages.

“We’ll handle it,” Scott hisses. “We don’t need you.”

Stiles watches Isaac carefully scoop Lydia up. He gives Stiles a death glare before carrying her away, Allison close at his heels. 

“Go home, Stiles,” Derek growls.

“Yeah, I think you’ve done enough already,” Erica says, giving him a smile full of fangs.

The darkness inside Stiles pulses, wraps around his lungs and keeps him from breathing, from saying anything.

“Come on,” Scott says, waving them away. “Let’s go get this thing.”

Stiles watches them walk away, taking tiny sips of air, hand clutched over the cold, desolate blackness in his chest. 

He struggles up off the ground, feeling like his body is too heavy, to worthless to move. He does it anyway, staggering along the trails until he finally emerges from the forest. The sight of his jeep is a tiny sliver of relief through his despair, and he crawls into it, trembling.

It’s a long time before he manages to get it started and drive home.

*

Stiles curls up on his bed, feeling the darkness wrap itself, slowly but surely, around his heart. 

It’s good that he has no interest in moving, because he’s not sure he could get up if he wanted to. He just lays there as the blackness spreads, constricting his lungs and slowing his pulse as it consumes him. 

By the time Derek shows up, he’s rolled to his back and is staring blankly at the ceiling. He doesn’t move.

“We got it,” Derek says, walking over. “We almost attacked each other first, but we got it,” he says wryly. “And Lydia woke up, she’s going to be fine. Just a mild concussion,” he says, sitting down next to Stiles on the bed.

Stiles blinks slowly, trying to process the news. He doesn’t feel anything.

“Stiles?” Derek says then, sounding worried. He leans over, far enough that their eyes meet. “Stiles, are you hurt?”

Stiles can’t stand that look of fear on Derek’s face, gives a tiny nod of his head.

“Where?” Derek says immediately, shifting on the bed. 

Stiles brings a hand up, puts it on his ribcage and drags it up to his chest, then lets it flop back to the bed. He doesn’t care.

Derek settles his palm against Stiles’ side. It’s hot like a brand, and he feels the bands of pressure loosen just a little around his heart. 

“The claws must have gotten you,” Derek says. “Stiles, I’m sorry about what happened out there. It wasn’t your fault. The creature, it was manipulating our emotions. Scott feels terrible about what he said, he’s going to come talk to you later.”

Stiles tilts his head, finds he wants to see Derek’s face.

“But I really was angry with you,” he says, looking guilty. “Even without the Drocnid affecting me. Because I saw you lying there, and I was so scared, so afraid you were hurt. That’s why I had you make that promise to me. Because if you were going to run headlong into danger, I wanted to be there beside you.”

Stiles tries to say something, tries to reach out to Derek, but he can’t. He can’t move.

“Do you know why?” Derek asks, inching over until his hip is pressed against Stiles' side. “I was waiting to tell you, because I wasn’t sure you were ready. But I think you need to hear it,” Derek says quietly. “Stiles, regardless of how you feel about me, I want you to know how I feel about you.” He takes a deep breath. “You’re my mate, and I love you. Stiles, I love you so much,” Derek says, his voice uneven, trembling.

Stiles feels the darkness in his chest crack in half, fall away, and he sits up, taking a deep, gasping breath. He clings to Derek’s shoulders, on the verge of sobbing, because he can suddenly feel _everything_.

“Derek, oh my god,” he breathes into Derek’s shoulder, shaking. “What happened?”

“It planted despair in you, and it was draining you of your will to live,” Derek says quietly against Stiles’ hair, holding him close. “I was afraid I was going to lose you.”

Stiles nods, feeling a surge of emotion roll through him. “Did you mean it?” he whispers, holding tight to Derek, his heart racing. 

“Yes,” Derek says with absolute certainty, his hands moving warm and soothing against Stiles’ back. “Every word.”

“I…” Stiles tries, but he’s overwhelmed by what he’s feeling. “Can we just?” he asks, tugging at Derek’s shirt.

“Of course,” Derek says, and he lays down next to Stiles, tucking him under his chin and wrapping him up in his arms. 

Stiles presses as close as he can, rubbing his cheek along Derek’s neck and breathing in his warm, familiar scent. “What does it mean, that I’m your mate?” he asks quietly.

“It means that you are perfect to me,” Derek says, and Stiles can feel the low rumble of his words through his chest. “That you mean everything to me,” he says, and Stiles feels him softly kiss the top of his head.

“That’s good,” Stiles murmurs, tilting his head back. He may doubt a lot of things, but he doesn’t doubt Derek. “Because I feel the same way about you,” he says, and happiness fills his chest when he sees the smile that lights up Derek’s face.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come by and prompt me/talk to me [ on tumblr](http://dragon-temeraire.tumblr.com/).


End file.
